


through a glass, darkly

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alternate Universe - Rear Window Fusion, Armchair Sleuthing, Gen, Invasion of Privacy, Murder Mystery, References to Abuse, True Crime Fans, Viktuuri pre-slash, implied domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22557385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: “She’s up to something, I’m certain of it.”“You sound like a bored suburban homemaker looking for gossip,” Detective Plisetsky says, his words dripping with disdain. “But then again most of them aren’t also world-class hackers. You could seriously fuck up someone’s life on this wild goose chase. Drop it.”“I’ll drop it if you can explain to me why she had to clean her entire kitchen’s worth of knives,” replies Viktor sullenly. “And why she was scrubbing everything with bleach the day after a violent argument with her brother that resulted in at least one broken lamp.”“Well,murder’snot the first thing that comes to mind,” retorts Detective Plisetsky.A Rear Window AU, written in collaboration with Bracari forYou Only Live Once.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino
Kudos: 50





	through a glass, darkly

_We have a 10-71, corner of 3rd and Harding Avenue. In pursuit of armed suspect. Requesting backup —_

_— Temperatures are expected to soar into the upper 90s today with St Lidwina and neighbouring cities already reporting high 80s, low 90s and climbing higher —_

_— And here’s Ricky with his top 10 songs of the week! First up, “Don’t Call Me By My Name” by pop newcomer Yuuri Katsuki —_

The sound of the doorbell suddenly causes the radio to go silent, the screens filled with CCTV feeds to go black. Surrounded by flickering static, a young silver-haired man quietly slips out and tiptoes through dusty, cavernous rooms to answer the apartment door.

A severely-dressed man with a wide-brimmed black hat stands on the other side. “Viktor,” he says gravely, taking off his hat and stepping inside. Viktor Nikiforov nods as he closes the door behind, not even bothering to peer out into the hall. 

“I’ve reviewed the accounts, Yakov,” he says. “We could have done this over email.”

“When’s the last time you spoke to another living creature, Vitya?” retorts Yakov, raising an eyebrow. 

“I talk to Makkachin all the time,” replies Viktor, as a brown standard poodle shows up by his side, wagging his tail cheerily. “I’ve managed to perfect a device to lower him down to the courtyard now that he’s gotten too big for the old basket. Wanna see?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” replies Yakov, his lips thinning. “In case you forgot, Vitya, the point of getting Makkachin was to help soothe your anxieties about going outside.”

“And this is why I’d rather we do this over email,” mutters Viktor. “Technology has enabled me to live a very comfortable and fulfilling life within the safety of my own house. Why bother going into the world, if I can have the world delivered to me?”

“You can’t deliver a proper doggy park,” replies Yakov, striding through the foyer onto the terrace where Makkachin’s carrier sits on a pulley above a neatly-manicured courtyard.

“But I can deliver a pet walker,” says Viktor as he joins him, looking out at the rooftops and windows of the surrounding apartments. “Seung-gil doesn’t mind.”

“You can’t deliver world travel,” says Yakov, furrowing his brows heavily.

“Why bother? They make newer and cooler places in VR every day,” retorts Viktor.

Yakov pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can’t deliver love.”

Viktor purses his lips. “I have friends from the true crime forum. kobutachan.”

Yakov raises an eyebrow. “What’s kobutachan’s real name, then?”

Viktor shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”

Yakov harrumphs, striding back into the apartment. He heads straight for the old den, putting an envelope onto the handsome walnut desk blanketed in a fine layer of dust. “What do they do for a living? Where do they live?”

Viktor takes out its contents and feeds them into the scanner. “Does it matter? We’re friends. We talk to each other. Their voice is so soothing and they’ve got the nicest laugh.”

At that, Yakov sighs deeply. “Vitya, you know I just worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” replies Viktor briskly. Yakov gets the message, taking his hat from the nearby rack as he heads for the door. “I’ll see you around. Please just send me PDFs next time.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” replies Yakov. With that he leaves, and Viktor hurries back into the den.

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. He stores away file boxes full of cold case reports from the county police, adjusts the angle on Makkachin’s nanny cams, arranges for Seung-gil to fetch him for a walk. Then, sometime after dinner, he gets a message from kobutachan: _sorry ive been super busy w school u know how it is_ 😛

Viktor doesn’t know how it is. He’d gotten his degrees via long-distance programmes. _It’s okay,_ he replies. _How was school_?

 _midterms are kicking my ass_ , replies kobutachan. _ive been busy at work too. help me makka wan kenobi ur my only ho_

 _LOL!_ Viktor sends a laughing emoji as he pours himself a glass of wine and heads out onto the terrace. Makkachin, freshly returned from his walk, is also out here enjoying the early evening breeze. _What am I helping you with_?

_keeping me sane. did u hear the wife in the clarkson shootings is claiming self defense?_

_Self defense for shooting her husband’s face off with a sawn-off shotgun?_ wonders Viktor. Distantly he catches a refrain of a lonely violin, mingling with a couple faint bars of bright bubblegum pop. The silhouette of a dancer extends a leg past a sheer white curtain, and the twins in the penthouse across the way are bickering again.

 _couldve been a long time coming_ , kobutachan replies. _when you’ve lived with someone for a long time grudges tend to pile up. or he could’ve been abusive_.

 _There wasn’t any sign of that_ , Viktor points out, watching the twins move between each open window, their argument getting louder. _No previous disturbances. No sign of injuries_. 

_it doesn’t need to leave a bruise_ , says kobutachan. A slap rings out through the window. The brother stumbles back, reeling, as the sister bears down on him in incandescent rage. Viktor steps towards the door, his heart inexplicably racing. _sometimes it’s the ones who go out of their way to pretend everything’s ok who have the most to hide_.

There’s a sudden loud crash, followed by frantic barking. Viktor hurries back into his apartment, and locks the door to the terrace behind him. He returns to his room with the radios and monitors, tunes in to the local music station, and accesses the security camera feeds of the building across the courtyard. 

_Turn away now, before everything changes between us. You know me, but don’t call me by my name…_

The feed is fairly uneventful, with a gaggle of neon-clad girls heading out, a handsy couple in the elevator, an old man tottering down the hallway clutching a paper bag. Makkachin barks and insinuates himself between Viktor’s knees, puppy eyes in full effect. In the distance, thunder cracks, and Makkachin whines. 

“It’s okay,” soothes Viktor, scratching the old poodle behind the ears. At that moment, kobutachan asks him about his opinion on the latest Netflix documentary about famous cold cases. _I’d have to watch it first,_ he replies, already pulling up his Netflix on a separate laptop to run concurrently to all the other monitors. 

He’s halfway through the first episode when he sees movement on the monitors again. The drunken man is lurching towards the sister, who is now bearing a raincoat, a suitcase, and a broken lamp. She rebuffs him with the lamp and a glare.

The sister wanders into the elevator, through the lobby, and out of sight. 

Makkachin whines again, at the clap of another thunder strike. Viktor sighs, bidding kobutachan good night so that he can tend to his dog. Makkachin jumps onto the pull-out as soon as Viktor sets it up, curling into his master as the storm rages outside.

At midnight, the sister leaves the apartment with the suitcase again.

* * *

Property titles are public record, so it doesn’t take too long for Viktor to locate the apartment and its owners. Michele and Sara Crispino bought the apartment two years ago and have lived there since.

 _My neighbours were arguing last night, and this time it seems final_ , he tells kobutachan over breakfast. _The sister was moving things around at midnight_.

 _well good for her_ , kobutachan replies. _you mentioned they bicker a lot before_.

 _It’s been hot and muggy and the rain has done nothing to fix it_ , Viktor adds. _I’m amazed she even has the energy to do anything today_. On the screen, Sara Crispino returns to the apartment, looking over her shoulder as she unlocks the door. Viktor’s eyes narrow. 

He fetches the drone he’d bought a couple months ago and goes out onto the terrace to fly it, lowering it until it’s hovering near the windows of the penthouse. Through the windows, he sees Sara frantically scrubbing at the kitchen floor with a bottle of bleach nearby. 

“Hey, sir!” someone yells from a nearby window. “You’re not allowed to fly a drone that low!”

“Sorry!” Viktor shouts, wobbling the drone a little before shooting it straight up in the air. “New to this!”

He manages to dip the drone back down for one more peek before calling it back. Sara is still cleaning her kitchen, but this time she’s washing quite an impressive array of knives. 

Viktor’s stomach churns as he steps back into the apartment.

* * *

The next time Sara Crispino leaves her apartment, Viktor takes the nanny cam from Makkachin’s room and sets it up on the terrace, planting it amid his flowers and herbs and pointing it towards the penthouse. 

_she was cleaning knives_? asks kobutachan. _can that be used in court?_

 _It’s circumstantial_ , replies Viktor, sending them the drone footage. _But suspicious, right?_

 _what the fuck_ , replies kobutachan not three minutes later. _that’s insane. circumstantial yeah but insane._

 _And that’s all after a violent argument with her brother, too, along with her leaving the apartment several times last night_ , adds Viktor. _Now I’m wondering if she’s moving out or if she’s moving HIM out you know what I mean_?

 _out in a suitcase_? echoes kobutachan. 😬😬😬 _that doesn’t sound good_

 _Definitely not_ , agrees Viktor. _I think I’d like to keep an eye on her and see if she produces a body or something. I need to get to the bottom of this._

_are you sure about that? you can’t fly a drone outside her window forever, she’ll notice._

_I’m not flying a drone outside her window_. There’s a knock at his door at that moment, causing him to jump. Viktor types out a hasty _BRB_ to kobutachan and slams the laptop closed just as his housekeeper Christophe opens the door and pokes his head in, expression vaguely unamused.

“You were sleeping in your monitor room again?” he asks. “Viktor, you know the pull-out is bad for your back, right?”

Viktor grimaces. “Makkachin needed company,” he says. It’s a flimsy excuse; the poodle rarely sleeps in his own bed these days.

Christophe casts a glance towards the monitors, towards the radio blaring the police scanner in between bursts of static. “What are you up to this time?” he wonders. 

“Just trying to solve a murder,” Viktor replies, before crossing to the door and taking it firmly from Christophe. “Save this room for last, okay?”

He closes the door without bothering to hear Christophe’s reply.

* * *

“This is stupid,” declares Detective Plisetsky as he sets down the binoculars on the terrace table. “You’ve been driven out of your mind with boredom, old man. Maybe you should leave the damn house for once.”

“I’m perfectly fine here, thanks,” replies Viktor stiffly, as he sets down a tray of lemonade and cookies on the table. “Chris, want a snack?”

“I agree with the detective,” says Christophe as he comes out to take a cookie. “You’ve finally gone stir crazy in this apartment of yours.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have a snack,” Viktor says with a pout, but he turns towards the penthouse windows again, training the binoculars on it. Inside, Sara Crispino is lounging in her living room, smoking a cigarette. “She’s up to something, I’m certain of it.”

“You sound like a bored suburban homemaker looking for gossip,” Detective Plisetsky says, his words dripping with disdain. “But then again most of them aren’t also world-class hackers. You could seriously fuck up someone’s life on this wild goose chase. Drop it.”

“I’ll drop it if you can explain to me why she had to clean her entire kitchen’s worth of knives,” replies Viktor sullenly. “And why she was scrubbing everything with bleach the day after a violent argument with her brother that resulted in at least one broken lamp.” 

“Well, _murder’s_ not the first thing that comes to mind,” retorts Detective Plisetsky. “Lots of people argue with their siblings and cause a mess that needs to be cleaned the morning after. I know it seems like a foreign concept to you since you’re an only child, but —”

“Wow, low blow, Yurio,” mutters Viktor. Christophe whistles.

“We can settle the matter here, can’t we?” he asks. “Plisetsky, you could call the superintendent and ask about a recent domestic report and see if there are any other witnesses. Maybe there’s neighbours that heard them.”

“They’re in the penthouse. The only thing anyone else will be hearing is Michele Crispino’s body making their lamp sway as he hits the floor,” retorts Viktor, but Yurio is already hunting down the number for the superintendent and placing the call.

“Hello, Mr Dean? This is Detective Plisetsky with the St Lidwina Police Department. We’ve gotten some calls about a domestic disturbance last night, do you happen to know any information? Yes. Uh-huh. Thank you. Have a nice afternoon.” He hangs up. “Crispino twins had a fight, and the brother left for Italy this morning. Sister put the brother in an Uber headed for the airport at approximately 6AM.”

“The superintendent told you that?” demands Viktor. 

“Superintendent said he saw the brother leave,” replies Yurio smugly.

“How did he know it was the airport?”

“Because the sister told him so on her way back upstairs.”

“Then he’s just taking it at Sara’s word!” Viktor shakes his head. “There was some neighbour who spotted her earlier in the night. She waved a broken lamp at him and everything. He was on the third floor. You should ask him.”

“I don’t even want to know how you got any of that information,” says Yurio, rolling his eyes. “I’ll do a little poking, Vik, but I’m telling you right now you’re better off keeping your nose out of other people’s business.”

“Well, until we can find Michele Crispino, dead or alive, I’m going to stay concerned,” replies Viktor, crossing his arms.

“Your funeral, old man,” replies Yurio, shaking his head. “Suit yourself.”

* * *

_what’d your cousin in the slpd say_? kobutachan asks over dinner. 

_He tracked down the drunk dude who saw her at 10_ , replies Viktor. _The guy doesn’t remember much because he was blackout drunk. Dead end_. 😕

“I can’t believe your internet friend is enabling you,” Christophe complains over a forkful of roasted brussel sprouts. Viktor grimaces.

“We’re just discussing things.” _i looked sara up and found her insta. she’s in a lot of pictures with this girl named mila and i think they might be dating_? 

_That’s interesting_ , replies Viktor, just as Christophe peers over. “Discussion looks an awful lot like enabling to me,” his housekeeper remarks. 

“It’s none of your business,” Viktor declares. 

“And whatever’s happening across the courtyard is none of yours,” replies Christophe. 

There’s a pause, and then kobutachan sends him a link. _she blogs about never being allowed to bring mila to her place because of her brother_ , they say. 

🤔🤔🤔, replies Viktor. Christophe sighs.

“Why can’t you accept that Crispino’s gone to Italy?” he asks. “You heard Yurio. He’s in Italy, not murdered. You should be happy about that.”

Viktor grimaces. “I know I should, but it’s just… it’s shifty, okay? She’s got knives and bleach and is trying to clean up the apartment and he’s in _Italy_? I don’t buy it.”

“I guess you’re not going to be satisfied until you get a picture of him alive and well in Italy, then?” remarks Christophe, standing up and clearing the table. Viktor makes a protesting noise as he swipes away his plate.

“I wasn’t done with that,” he whines.

“You weren’t? Oh, I thought you were, since you’re texting your boyfriend instead of eating,” retorts Christophe. Viktor rolls his eyes. 

After Christophe leaves for the night, Viktor goes back to his monitor room. The nanny cam feed shows Sara deep in conversation with the redhead named Mila. Viktor watches, fascinated, as Sara leans in to kiss her. 

_can i ask you a personal question_? kobutachan asks all of a sudden. Relieved for the distraction, Viktor turns his attention to his mobile. 

_What is it_? he asks. The ‘kobutachan is typing’ line has never seemed so tense before.

 _im in st lidwina for a couple days this weekend and was wondering if you wanted to meet up_ , is the message after that, and Viktor’s first instinct is to agree, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. But then the night breeze from the outdoor window hits him, and he remembers.

 _You know I don’t ever leave the house_. kobutachan had thought he’d been joking the first time he mentioned that. The ‘typing’ message stops and starts a bit contritely after that.

 _i could come to yours_ , they reply. _i mean, if you’re ok with it._

 _I don’t know_. The uncertainty rankles in Viktor’s stomach, wars with his need to know the person behind the username, the face behind the cheerful blue bowl of katsudon that kobutachan uses as their display pic. _I might be busy_. 

_busy spying on your neighbors_? wonders kobutachan, and Viktor groans at his phone. On the screen, Sara slams Mila against the window, deepening the kiss.

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose. _I just want to make sure the brother’s all right_.

 _by violating their privacy_? wonders kobutachan. _i mean it’s one thing to ask around about it but didn’t you say the police found out he’s just in italy? that’s a good thing, right_?

 _Yeah, but I still don’t think it adds up_ , replies Viktor.

 _just because something looks bad doesn’t necessarily mean it is_ , retorts kobutachan.

Viktor grits his teeth. _You yourself said the other day that abuse doesn’t have to leave a bruise, and that not everything is always as it seems_.

 _that’s always a case-by-case basis, though. it doesn’t justify hacking into someone’s apartment security and rigging cameras_.

Viktor turns off his phone and throws it across the room. He grabs the laptop with the nanny cam feed, opens up an iCloud access panel and his decoding algorithm, and starts to type. Within a couple minutes he’s in Sara’s account, splashing the details of her computer across his own. Files, photos, videos, browser histories — everything is laid bare in front of him. She got an email receipt from Uber — but none from any airlines.

“So there might not be a ticket,” Viktor mutters, scrolling through her searches. The word ‘blood’ causes him to freeze and return to the result:

**_get rid of bloodstains in carpet_ **

Viktor’s heart rabbits. It rabbits harder as he checks through her recent purchases. Sleeping pills. The suitcase he’d seen her carry out of the flat. Bleach and several heavy-duty sponges. His stomach lurches uneasily. He closes the tab.

The notification from kobutachan on his desktop nearly causes him to fall out of his chair. _makka i’m sorry for trying to impose,_ they say _. i shouldnt have assumed._

 _It’s all right,_ Viktor replies, though he doesn’t feel it at all. _Someday I’ll have the courage to meet you._

 _it’s still a little creepy that you’re spying on your neighbors like this though_ , kobutachan adds. Viktor laughs, in spite of himself.

 _I don’t want anyone to get away with murder, though_ , he replies. _She’s googling how to clean up blood and buying sleeping pills and suitcases and I just think it’s all very suspicious, you know?_

 _i know but normal people don’t default to murder_ , kobutachan points out. _that’s just us crime nerds. maybe we’ve spent too much time on those forums and it’s driving us mad?_

Viktor exhales. _Maybe_ , he concedes. _You’re one of the first people I’ve talked to who wasn’t someone I’d paid to be there._

 _all the more reason to consider leaving the house_ , kobutachan reasons. _i know i can’t just make it suddenly easy to do that but maybe i could help a little?_

Not wanting to answer, Viktor turns his attention back to Sara’s iCloud account. Most of her photos and videos are innocuous — selfies, animal pictures, vacations, concerts. But a couple others catch Viktor’s eye; he open up one of the videos and almost immediately regrets doing so.

“ _I heard you’re still dating that Russian bitch_ ,” Michele Crispino’s voice rings out. “ _I thought you told me you two broke up_.” 

There’s a loud rustling, as Sara sets down the phone on what looks like the kitchen island, her figure blurring as she confronts her brother. “ _Yeah, I told you that to get you to stop bothering me_.”

“ _You’re not allowed to lie to me, you know that_?” Viktor’s stomach sinks as the camera focuses in on the twins arguing by the window. “ _I thought I told you, if you want to live here with me, you have to be completely honest with me. How else am I going to protect you from all the bad shit outside_?”

 _“Do you ever listen to yourself_?” demands Sara, scoffing. “ _One: this apartment is just as much mine as it is yours. Two: I’m a grown-ass adult and I don’t owe you anything_.”

“ _I don’t trust her_ ,” Michele retorts. “ _You’re going to break up with her again, and I’ll be there to make sure you do it_.”

 _Sla_ p. It rings out just as loud this time around. “ _You’ll do no such thing_ ,” Sara declares. “ _I’ll move out before I let you do something that stupid_.”

A pause. “ _You wouldn’t_ dare,” Michele hisses.

“ _I would_ ,” replies Sara.

 _Crash_. Viktor clicks out, bile rising in his throat. Several of the other videos are similar, recording arguments between the two that get nastier with each passing minute. With his hands shaking, Viktor steps away, heading to the terrace to gulp in the night air. 

Michele had stifled Sara from the outside world. Had tried to isolate her, clip her wings. Makkachin comes out onto the terrace with him, whining and scratching at the crate. Viktor lets him get into the contraption, slowly lowering it all the way down into the courtyard. Across the yard, Sara pulls back the vast windows of the penthouse living room, letting the night breeze blow through her hair as she smokes a cigarette. Viktor watches the silver-blue smoke drift out into the night, and realises what he has to do.

When he finishes retrieving Makkachin from the courtyard, Viktor returns to the monitor room and sets to work, running through Sara’s files to delete anything serious. He leaves a note to remind her to send Michele’s belongings to Italy, before accessing Michele’s accounts. 

A notification from kobutachan pops up just as Viktor puts in the finishing texts on Michele’s accounts and logs out. _makka? i’m sorry if i’m intruding again or if i made you uncomfortable. you’re a good friend and that matters more than anything else we could be_. 

Viktor’s heart is like the first bloom at the end of winter. _What else could we be_? he wonders.

 _it’s stupid_ , says kobutachan. _don’t worry about it_.

Viktor steels himself. _Would you tell me in person_?

* * *

“You know, you might be onto something after all,” says Yurio a couple days later, as Viktor watches him train a set of binoculars on the windows of the penthouse. “Michele Crispino’s been reported missing after failing to show up to work for 3 days in a row. His sister insists he went to Italy, but there’s no record of him buying a ticket.”

“You said yourself she got him an Uber,” Viktor points out. Yurio’s hands falter.

“True, but that doesn’t explain her other recent purchases.”

“She could have had insomnia,” replies Viktor. “And plenty of people run out of bleach without murder being the reason.”

There’s a pause, as Yurio turns to squint at him. “I don’t even want to know how you know,” he says. “And weren’t you _insistent_ a couple days ago something shady happened? What’s with the change of heart?”

“Change of heart?” echoes Viktor. “No, I just realised whatever the Crispinos were up to was none of my business.”

“That sounds like a change of heart to me,” replies Yurio, setting down the binoculars. “Okay, how would you explain the lack of a plane ticket, then?”

“He bought his ticket with cash at the airport. It was a last-minute thing. Maybe a family emergency. She did send his things to Italy afterwards.” Viktor smiles beatifically, as Yurio’s eyes narrow.

“I suppose,” he ventures after a moment. “We’ll have to go through the footage again. But i’m pretty sure most people who plan to abscond to Europe tell their bosses beforehand.”

“Rich people aren’t most people,” replies Viktor. Across the way, Sara Crispino emerges with a cigarette in hand. Viktor waves in her direction, pushing his cousin towards the door. “Good luck getting to the bottom of it.” 

Yurio flips him the bird, but acquiesces. On his way out, he pauses by the door to the monitor room, and for a moment his mouth works as if he’d like to ask to look inside. But then he seems to think better of it, and walks on by. Viktor exhales.

“Let me know if you see or hear anything,” Yurio insists as he leaves. Viktor nods, and takes great care not to slam the door in his face.

He’s barely finished closing the door when the doorbell rings again. Viktor swings the door back open, the first words of an exasperated ‘what did you forget’ dying on his lips as he takes in the young Japanese man on his doorstep. 

Viktor’s seen him before. It’s Yuuri Katsuki, emerging musical sensation. His hair is windswept, and his eyes twinkle behind his glasses. Viktor swallows, his brows furrowing.

“Can I… help you?” he wonders. 

Yuuri smiles hesitantly. “…Makka?” he asks. Viktor’s jaw drops. 

“Kobutachan?” he demands, opening the door wider. Yuuri nods, taking a step in. “Oh my god. I — who would’ve known?” 

“Probably could’ve let the cat out of the bag sooner if we ever video chatted,” Yuuri points out. Viktor laughs at that. 

“Well, I… how did you find my address?”

Yuuri’s eyes twinkle. “Christmas cards,” he says, and Viktor makes a small ‘ah’ of remembrance. “It was before I got recognised, anyway. You probably didn’t think much of it then.”

“Amazing the stuff that people from the Internet can hunt down about you,” Viktor mutters, as Makkachin comes scampering in to greet them. “This is the real Makka, by the way.”

“He’s perfect,” declares Yuuri, kneeling down to scratch the poodle behind the ears. “So. I know it’s a lot to ask, since you… told me about your situation. But there _is_ a really nice coffee shop downstairs.”

“I know,” says Viktor. “I usually order delivery from them.” 

Yuuri hums, before extending a hand. “What about heading down in person with me?” he asks. “I’ll be there the entire time.” 

Viktor looks out towards the terrace. Sara is gone now, but her cigarette smoke still seems to linger. Familiar cold apprehension stirs deep inside him, but he swallows it down and takes Yuuri’s hand. 

“I’d like that,” he says, and Yuuri smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.  
> For now we see in a mirror, darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. — _1 Corinthians 13_
> 
> This was written in collaboration with [bracari](https://twitter.com/bracariart) for _You Only Live Once_. Watch this space for the art!
> 
> [Find me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/lilywinterwood).


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